


You Can Have My Everything

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Bonding, Claiming, Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, M/M, Rituals, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam only has one way to save his brother’s life, and he’s not going to let Dean stop him from doing it.  Not that Dean’s in any mood to <i>try</i>…</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Have My Everything

The ritual has already been started by the time Sam’s found them, and apparently, just because the demon witch who started it is now very dead, it doesn’t mean the magic died with him. It’s still in the air, still has Dean gasping and panting around the gag, bucking up from the altar he’s tied to.

Still has the power to kill him if the ritual isn’t completed.

Sam would call Cas, because he’s sure the angel has to have some way out of this, but there’s no _time_. Last time they’d called the angel down to them when he’d been mid-battle, Raphael had almost…had almost…

No use thinking about that now.

The point is, Sam can’t rely on Cas, especially not right now, and judging by what Bobby was able to dig up about the ritual, Dean’s only got maybe an hour before the magic gets to be too much and his heart gives out. Sam’s not about to let that happen.

He steps forward, and beneath his breast, he’s sure he feels his newly restored soul quiver with the magnitude of what he’s about to do. But there’s no hesitation, not even a shred of doubt in his mind. This is the only option, and he doesn’t need to think about it.

He just hopes Dean can forgive him after.

Like he can sense Sam coming closer, Dean’s eyes suddenly fly open, pupils blown wide, only a thin ring of green barely visible around them, and he struggles harder against his bindings. Sam can see that he’s hurting himself, trickles of blood seeping out from beneath the coarse rope. He settles a hand against Dean’s leg, hoping to soothe him, grits his teeth when the skin-to-skin contact has the magic slamming into him. Blood fills his cock, hardening it against the fabric of his suddenly too-restrictive jeans, and his hand clenches painfully tight on Dean’s thigh.

Dean whimpers, thrashing his head back and forth. Sam forces himself to take a few deep breaths, to remember that he has a soul now and he’s not the animal the magic would have him believe he is. He can take this slow, he can take the time to explain. His heartbeat quickens as he touches Dean’s face, removing the gag and brushing fingers down his cheek in a caress.

“Sammy…”

Dean’s voice is shattered, eyes wide as he stares at his little brother, and Sam swallows hard before he says, “There’s no way to stop it. It has to be finished, Dean.”

“What –”

Sam’s fingers press to Dean’s lips, quieting him, and he ignores the way his own breath stutters in his lungs. “He was trying to bind your soul to him. He wanted to…to _own_ you. Bobby found the ritual, based on the sacrifices he chose. It’s old. And irreversible. And I _can’t stop it_.”

Dean looks desperate. “Cas –”

“Is in the middle of a battle we can’t afford to interrupt. And you’ll die before he can make it here.”

“Fuck,” Dean hisses, thumping his head back against the unforgiving stone.

“Dean…” Sam doesn’t want to do this, he _doesn’t_ , not like this. But he doesn’t have a choice, won’t let his brother die. Not when he can stop it.

Dean’s eyes find his, and even through the lust burning white-hot between them, even behind the fear and the anger at the situation, there’s forgiveness there. There’s love and brotherhood and _trust_ , and something in Sam’s chest eases when he sees it, even before Dean says, “Do it.”

“Are you –”

“If you ask me if I’m sure, I’m gonna break your face,” Dean rasps. “ _No_ , I’m not fucking sure, but damn it, I want to live, Sam. I just…just got you back, and I wanna be around to enjoy that for a while. And it’s not like…it’s not like I never… _Fuck_.” He takes a breath, deep and steadying as his eyes slide closed. “Better you than anyone else.”

Sam watches him for another moment, his hands shaking as he fights his body’s need to fulfill what’s begun here, to give in to the magic coursing into and around them both. Sweat glistens on Dean’s skin, and his cock curves toward his belly, thick with need. Sam’s for the taking, if he chooses.

The groan falls unsteadily from his lips, and he moves to the head of the altar to quickly cut the bindings at Dean’s wrists loose. If he’s going to do this, he’ll be damned before he does it with Dean at his mercy.

As it is, when this is all over…

But he won’t think about that right now, either.

Dean hisses when his arms are free, immediately tucking his elbows in close and rubbing at his wrists to gain some feeling back, though it has to hurt like hell with them raw and bleeding the way they are. Sam makes his way to the other side and does the same for the ropes at his ankles that were keeping his legs spread wide. He tries not to think about the purpose, does his best not to remember the face of the demon that did this to his brother. That would have done worse.

The last thing Sam does is remove his clothes, piece by piece, trying to be as…as _clinical_ about it as possible. Dean’s watching him with dark eyes, his gaze steady and burning, sending heat racing through Sam’s veins as he folds his t-shirt into something like a pillow. No reason Dean should have to suffer through this with more discomfort than necessary.

Not that Dean looks like he’s going to be suffering. Sam can feel the magic getting stronger the longer he takes, and he knows if _he’s_ feeling this way, Dean must be ten times worse. He’s been under the influence longer, and the magic is locked on him specifically.

Sam carefully lifts Dean’s head, places the folded fabric underneath, and when Dean just continues to stare at him with that look of pure, unadulterated _want_ in his eyes, there’s nothing Sam can do to delay it any longer.

He _takes_.

He’s leaning down to claim Dean’s mouth in a hungry kiss even as he’s climbing onto the altar, climbing over his brother’s body. Dean skin is sweat-slick and _vibrating_ , pulses of desire racing just beneath the surface, making his limbs shake with barely-controlled ecstasy at every touch of Sam’s skin, every caress of his hand, ever nip of his teeth.

It’s only the beginning, and Sam is already drunk on the taste of Dean. He pulls back with effort, grabs for the knife he placed to the side. “I have to… I have to…” He’s barely coherent, but he needs to do this right, or the magic could still kill Dean. This could all be for nothing if he doesn’t get it right.

Dean closes his eyes as he makes a pitiful whining sound. “Just _hurry up_ ,” he grits out, his last threads of control frayed and ready to snap.

“It’s gonna hurt,” Sam warns. Doesn’t need to, and he knows before Dean’s glare lands on him what his brother’s reaction will be, but he can’t _not_ say the words.

Dean’s teeth are clenched, his eyes a shade of dark Sam’s _never_ seen before, anger and ecstasy and hatred and love and desperation all swirling and blending together, and Sam’s so focused on them that he almost misses Dean’s next words. “I’ve been carved into in every possible way, torn apart a thousand times over. Do what you gotta do and _move the fuck on_ , Sam.”

He hates the reminder, hates that Alastair’s name has presence here even when it’s not spoken aloud. Hates that that demon is a part of Dean in ways Sam will never be, hates that even dead, he holds a piece of Dean that Sam can never claim. Vows, here and now, that this will be different.

This isn’t going to hurt Dean, not if he can help it. This, he’s going to make Dean _crave_.

The first press of the blade touches Dean’s collarbone blunt-side down. Cold metal on flushed, sensitive skin, and Dean gasps at the shock of it, his eyes flying to Sam’s. Sam smiles a little bit wickedly, left hand braced over Dean’s shoulder, holding his weight so that his face is only inches from Dean’s as he traces the blade down. He breathes the same air as his brother, the blade curving around one peaked nipple and going lower…lower… curling around Dean’s belly button before beginning a path back up toward his other nipple, and Dean’s breathing has gone utterly ragged, hands clenched at his sides as his wide eyes, dark with lust, stare into Sam’s.

Sam twists the blade at the same time as he kisses Dean, biting down on his lower lip as the blade bites into his skin, and Dean moans, arching into both. Sam drags himself back, staring at the blood welling beneath the gleaming silver, beginning to tremble as it trickles down. Dean’s hand raises, catches Sam’s face, tilts it back up so that their gazes are holding. The blade catches, drags. “ _Fuck_ ,” Dean hisses. “Fuck, _Sammy_ …”

The design is supposed to be something that means something to the person carving it, and Sam chose a Celtic arrowhead, an ancient symbol for _brother_ , because really, what else is there for them? He traces the memorized lines and whorls across Dean’s breast in gentle swipes of the knife. Its razor-sharp edge never falters, and the design takes shape beneath Sam’s careful hand. Dean is panting by the time he’s done, partly in pain and mostly in desire as he tries to buck up into Sam to get some sort of friction against his painfully swollen cock.

“Shh,” Sam soothes, tossing the blade away and pressing his hand to the unbroken side of Dean’s chest as he leans down to claim his mouth again. “You’re all right,” he whispers against Dean’s lips. “You’re all right.”

“ _Finish it_ ,” Dean begs. “God, Sam, _please_.”

Sam’s head lowers to Dean’s shoulder as he drags in a few harsh gulps of air. He’s counting his blessings right now that he got himself tested three days after getting his soul back, and forced Dean to do the same just on principle. There’s no outside elements allowed past this point of the ritual, no condom, no lube, no nothing, and he’s not sure he’d have the patience right now anyway, the way the magic is winging its way through his system, but at least he knows they’re both clean.

“Tell me you want this,” Sam says, because fuck, it’s not like there’s a choice, but he has to pretend, has to feel like maybe if there _was_ …

Dean’s hand catches in his hair, drags him up to meet his eyes. “ _I want this_ ,” he says, his voice clear and controlled, more sure than Dean’s ever heard him sound before. “Now fucking _fuck me_ already before I kick your ass.”

And…that’s better, way better, than Sam had hoped for. His eyes slide to the wound on Dean’s chest, and he wishes he could cover it, because hell if that’s not going to hurt Dean, but then Dean _growls_ , thrusting his hips against Sam’s and spreading his legs wider, and Sam can take a damn hint already.

He spits, gets his fingers as slick as possible, kisses and then sucks at Dean’s shoulder as he slides his hand down past Dean’s balls, pushes a finger past the opening he finds. Dean jerks, a muttered curse falling from his lips, but Sam doesn’t pause, doesn’t let himself second-guess. A second finger joins the first, too quickly maybe, but Dean pushes into it, one hand finding Sam’s hip and grabbing on hard enough to bruise.

Sam finds that he likes knowing that Dean won’t be the only one marked by this.

He kisses Dean hard on the mouth as he begins scissoring his fingers open, kisses hard enough that he can taste the faint iron tang of blood as he licks his way inside and swallows the sounds Dean makes. “Want you,” he whispers, desperately, when he finally tears himself away, pulls his fingers out roughly to he can spit into his hand again, try and slick up his cock enough to do this without causing pain. “Want you so badly Dean, _God_.”

Dean doesn’t reply with words, just bends his knees, easier access and a clear invitation that Sam can’t possibly turn down. Magic or no magic, he can’t deny he’s wanted this for a long time. Not like this, _never_ like this, but fuck if that matters right now.

He’s afraid to touch himself, afraid of coming before he ever manages to get inside Dean, but he grips the base of his cock hard with one hand, balancing himself on an elbow as he slicks himself up, and then there’s no more waiting. Just the slick slip-slide of damp skin as he drapes himself over Dean and presses inside, too fast, _too damn fast_ , but Dean is making sounds Sam’s never heard before, taking his cock like a pro and all but begging for more, and all Sam can do is comply until he’s fully sheathed and breathing hard.

The magic is coiled tight around them both, and for a moment, Sam can’t move, just holds himself on trembling arms, trying to breathe past the storm of sensations. Dean’s the one who mutters, “Fuck this shit,” and pushes down hard on Sam’s cock, clenching tightly enough around him that Sam chokes.

“God _dammit_ , Dean,” he hisses, but then he’s moving, thrusting deep, and Dean’s smirk is wiped clean away when Sam hits the right spot _every single time_. He wants to be embarrassed by the sounds he’s making, wants to slow down, just a little, try to take Dean as high as he can, but he can’t stop, it’s _impossible_ to stop, and every second he gets closer to climax, he can feel the thrum in his chest, the magic wrapping around his soul, around _Dean’s_ soul, binding them so closely together they’ll never be able to be apart again, and _God, **God**_ , this is what they’ve both needed for so long, and he can’t stop, _can’t stop_ …

“ _Sam!_ ”

It’s Dean who cries out first, coming hard across Sam’s stomach though his cock hasn’t been touched once since this whole thing fucking _started_ , and that alone is enough to trigger Sam’s climax as well. He pounds one more time hard into Dean, grunts as he spills his release deep, buries his face in Dean’s neck as he trembles his way through the aftermath.

He never hears the snap of the bond settling firmly into place, never sees the light that flashes blindingly around them. All he knows is the soft stroking of Dean’s hand up and down his spine, the frantic pounding of his heart that matches so perfectly to the heartbeat he can feel at his brother’s pulse-point. The whisper of _I love you, Sammy_ that brushes across his hear, and the way something inside him practically _sings_ at the words.

All he knows is that he’s suddenly aware of Dean in a thousand ways he never has been before, and it feels _right_.

There’s a moment of perfect silence between the brothers before Dean pokes Sam in the side. Sam stirs, but can’t really bring himself to move, even despite the way they’re sticky with blood and sweat and various other body fluids that don’t bear thinking about right now. “Hey,” Dean says, breathing the word into Sam’s skin. “So you, like, own me and shit now, right?”

Sam snorts, smiles tiredly. “Yeah, right. You were supposed to _submit_ , you asshole, which is why he used the rope. Think this is closer to an equal partnership, at this point. Guess we’ll need to test it more later, to be sure. Though, I mean, if you really want…”

He can _feel_ Dean’s grin. “Aww, Sammy, you got a master/slave kink I don’t know about?”

He finally raises his head enough to glare, but can’t hold it against the bright warmth of his brother’s soul wrapped around his, Dean’s happiness cutting neatly through his – admittedly small – irritation. “Damn it, Dean,” Sam gripes, fondly.

Dean’s voice is absolutely certain when he says, “We’re okay, Sammy. We’re gonna be okay,” and slides his arms around Sam, pulling him down into a kiss softer than any they’ve shared yet. And Sam feels the _trueness_ of Dean’s words ring through him, has a few moments to enjoy it just before his brother pushes him back, and his radiant smile turns cocky and confident and obnoxious as hell. “So…whaddya say to a real bed next time, huh? My back is fucking _killing_ me.”

And all Sam can do at that point is let his head fall back to Dean’s shoulder as he laughs.

Yeah, they’re going to be okay.

-  



End file.
